


Ink Inchoate

by DuskenDreams (From_Dusk_to_Dawn)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Mild Angst, things get better though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 02:39:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7296202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/From_Dusk_to_Dawn/pseuds/DuskenDreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke is a tattoo artist who refuses to ink people without an appointment because they're usually drunk or overly emotional and regret the tattoo later.  But maybe she can make an exception just this one time. </p><p>Tattoo AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink Inchoate

 

"I don't ink drop-ins.  Sorry.  I want people to be sure.  If you still want it in 48 hours I'd be more than happy to..."

 

"Please."

 

The brunette is tear-stained and desperate, the exact type of person Clarke normally won't get within ten feet of inking.  They’re usually drunk or emotional or a combination of both.  And they'll regret the decision in the morning.  That won’t do.  Clarke always wants people to love her work forever.  

 

Tattooing is cathartic for her.  Every tattoo she does, no matter how small, has something of her in it.  The idea of someone seeing her work and regretting...well.  She won't do it.

 

"You don't understand.   _Please_."

 

The tone is practically frantic. Big green eyes stare pleadingly at her and _damn_ she hasn't felt this weak in _ages_ but no. Strong.

 

"Look I'm sorry, but there are other places that do drop-ins and like I said you can come back--"

 

"No."  The brunette cuts her off, shaking her head rapidly.  "You're the best in the city.  You're the only one who'll do it justice--"

 

"Okay so like I said you can come back--"

 

"No that won't work either."

 

Clarke is kind of annoyed at this point.  What part of this is this girl not getting?  

 

The girl turns and yanks up part of her sleeve where Clarke can see an extensive and intricate drawing along her arm.

 

"Please. I need to get this done before it fades away."

 

Clarke purses her lips.  

 

"You can just redraw it."

 

And really, Clarke isn't going to just trace something this girl already has. She can go to anyone for that.

 

The girl's face shutters closed, eyes flickering behind closed lids as she breathes harshly.

 

In an impressive display, she pulls herself together and opens her eyes.

 

"I cannot.  I did not draw it."

 

"Okay then whoever did."

 

"She cannot. She--" the girl falters again, another ragged breath and then a half choking noise.  "She's dead."

 

All the air goes out of Clarke's lungs, the frantic nature of the request suddenly coming into sharp focus.

 _Oh_.

It takes some time, but they hash out the details and Clarke starts prep work.

 

The girl--Clarke has since learned her name is Lexa--is fidgeting on the chair in the back room.

 

Clarke is currently carefully tracing and re-creating the lines of the tattoo  design on paper.  She knows it's probably not necessary, but she wants to be sure she doesn't lose anything when she cleans the area.  It's sure to fade at least a little when she applies the rubbing alcohol.  

 

Lexa fidgets again under the scrutiny of her gaze.  

 

Clarke notes her discomfort.

 

"We really don't have to do this today if you're not comfortable.  I haven't actually laid out the tools so I can refund you.  I’ll keep the design on hand and you can come back when you want."

 

Lexa shakes her head quickly, two sharp shakes.

 

“Thank you, but I want to immortalize C-Costia’s drawings in her own hand.  I do not want to wait until it is gone.”

 

Clarke bites her lips, but nods.  She gets that.  That this tattoo is deeply personal and some of the effect is lost if they wait.

 

“Okay then.”

 

She finishes the design and shows it to Lexa who nods.  She then busies herself, pulling out the rubbing alcohol and a razor to make sure the area is completely smooth.

 

She’s careful about cleaning it, trying her best not to smudge any lines.  It looks pretty intact when she’s done and Lexa looks as relieved as she feels.  After that pronouncement, she really hoped she wouldn’t have to re-draw the thing.

 

As she sets up some of her equipment, she notices Lexa tensing just watching her with the needles.  To distract her, Clarke starts talking.

 

“So why me?  If you don’t mind me asking.  Pretty much any tattoo artist in the city can trace over lines.”

 

Lexa purses her lips.

 

“Ah.  As I said you are quite good and I did not feel comfortable with some of the other establishments.”  Her lip curls a little at that and Clarke fights back a smirk.

 

Fair enough, Clarke supposes.  She’s finished laying out her supplies and is just about to tell Lexa she’s ready to start when she stops short because Lexa looks like she still has something left to say.

 

“And...and.  Well.  Costia and I had talked about getting matching tattoos a while ago.  We hadn’t decided what we wanted but… we had looked into artists and agreed on you back then too.  So.”

 

Lexa’s eyes mist over a little.

 

“She loved art.  She was always doodling things.  Even if she didn’t have paper she-she” Lexa chokes up a little, “she’d just grab me by the arm and draw on me.  Whenever inspiration struck.  She used to say ‘art waits for no one Lexa!  Not even paper’ and I couldn’t find it in me to protest.”

 

And Clarke can see it clearly too.  Two young girls, so vibrant and full of life.  Lexa letting her lover draw on her, love in her eyes.

 

“She drew this the morning she…”

 

Lexa trails off.

 

“She loved art so much… she loved your work online...she would’ve loved it.”

 

Clarke swallows, resists the urge to scratch at the back of her neck.  She won’t apologize.  Won’t say sorry.  She knows from experience that it doesn’t help.  

 

“Ah,” she manages, “well I hope I live up to expectations.”

 

Lexa nods, but it’s clear she’s in her own world, adrift in memory.

 

Clarke clears her throat.  

 

“Right.  I’m ready to begin if you are?”

 

Lexa breathes deep and shakes a little, but she gives Clarke a clear enough ‘yes’ that Clarke nods and grabs her ointment.

 

When she’s turned back around, Lexa has closed her eyes tight, gripping the sides of the chair.  When Clarke touches her to apply the ointment, Lexa all but jumps out of her seat.

 

“Relax,” Clarke soothes, “this is just to set the design.”

 

Lexa nods jerkily.

 

“It’s okay, you know?”  Clarke continues, “it’s not like you feel nothing, but the pain is really not as bad as you think it is.  Thinking about it is the worst part.”

 

Lexa nods again, slightly less stiff, relaxing just a fraction.

 

Clarke lays a soothing hand on her and she relaxes another fraction.

 

“Right,” Clarke says and then she presses needle to skin and starts inking.

 

Lexa, to her credit, stays stock still.

 

Clarke loses herself in the motions. It's not her design, but the ink speaks to her as if it were her own.

 

It helps that Lexa is the perfect patron.  She doesn't move a muscle the entire time, her even breathing the only indication Clarke has that she's real and not a practice dummy.

 

All too soon Clarke is pulling away, discarding her gloves.

 

Lexa finally hazards a glance down at the tattoo and is immediately mesmerized.

 

Her fingers reach out to touch it, before pulling away.  

 

When she turns back to Clarke, there are unshed tears pooling in her eyes.  

 

“ _Thank you_ ,” is all she can manage.  It's choked, but it's genuine and it lifts Clarke’s heart.

 

This.

 

This is why she's a tattoo artist.  

 

This is what makes it worth it.

 

She gives Lexa the spiel on taking care of the tattoo in the coming weeks and Lexa leaves.

 

But the genuine gratitude she'd seen in Lexa's eyes and the reverence with which she’d regarded the tattoo keeps Clarke’s heart warm for the rest of the day.

 

____

 

Clarke isn't expecting to ever hear from Lexa again.

 

And she doesn't. For 8 months.

 

But then one day there’s a call and an appointment and the next thing she knows, Lexa is walking back into her parlor.

 

The first thing Clarke notices is that she looks thinner and not in a good way.  Lexa is stunning still, but she looks unhealthily thin from when Clarke saw her last, her cheeks sunken in and her body harsh and bony, devoid of the muscle that was there earlier.

 

“Hello Clarke.”

 

Lexa’s voice at least, is clear.  Her eyes too are bright, missing a little of that hollow look from right after her lover had died.

 

“Lexa,” Clarke cautiously returns.  “You look…”  She trails off, uncertain how to voice her concern without offending the other girl.

 

Lexa’s mouth thins, but she nods, already understanding what Clarke means to say.  “Yes.  Things were… not good for a few months.  I was not coping as well as I should have.  But I am getting better now.”

 

Clarke nods.  It’s none of her business really, but she feels immensely relieved at Lexa’s proclamation that she’s getting better.

 

“That’s actually why I am here,” Lexa continues.  “As I mentioned on the phone, I’d like to get the tattoo fixed up a little.”

 

Clarke’s brow creases.  “It shouldn’t be fading already.  What’s wrong with it?”

 

Lexa rolls up her sleeve and Clarke leans closer to inspect it.  

 

There’s nothing wrong with it.  Lexa’s voice moments later only confirms it.

 

“It’s not fading.  It is merely incomplete.”

 

Clarke’s brow furrows.  “Incomplete?”

 

Lexa nods her head.

 

“The black and white,” she explains, “that is only what was left of Costia.  The dark and heaviness of death.  But Costia would have wanted to have been remembered in color.  I have looked through your portfolio and you are excellent with watercolor.”

 

Clarke blinks.  

 

On the one hand, it is immensely flattering and her brain is already mapping the tattoo and what colors she’d like to use.

 

On the other hand, this is such an immensely personal tattoo and Clarke feels like she’s being set up to fail.

 

“Is there,” she swallows heavily, “is there a color palette you would prefer?”

 

Lexa hums thoughtfully.  

 

“Not really.  I would like it done in soft, pretty pastel colors, but I trust your judgment.”

 

She is quiet for a moment and then, “Costia would have loved the design in color.”

 

She pauses, mind caught on some memory that makes Clarke feel like an intruder in her own shop.  Finally, Lexa gathers herself again.

 

“You are already familiar with the design.  The colors are an extension of that.”

 

Clarke purses her lips.  

 

“Lexa I’m not sure--”

 

“Clarke I am resolute,” she cuts her off.  The way she squares her shoulders off and sets her jaw makes Clarke believe her.

 

“I didn’t know Costia.  I don’t want to get it wrong.”

 

Lexa relaxes infinitesimally at that.

 

“That is alright then.  I will tell you about her.”

 

Lexa contemplates for a moment before a look of serenity washes over her face.

 

“Costia… was like the first burst of rain in spring.  She brought life everywhere she went.”

 

As Lexa talks, Clarke makes mental notes, and wanders through her workspace, snagging colors.

 

When she settles back down, having snagged what she wanted, she finds Lexa looking at her with clear eyes.

 

“I hated the tattoo for a while.”

 

Clarke’s throat dries up.  This is _precisely_ why she didn’t let people do drop-ins.  When they were emotional they tended to make stupid mistakes they would regret later.

 

She shakes herself out of her reverie.  Lexa had used past tense.  And she was obviously here again now.

 

“What changed your mind?”

 

Lexa shrugged a little carelessly.

 

“I wanted the tattoo as a reminder.  But for a while the reminder was more painful than I could bear.”

 

She sighs softly.

 

“But when I finally got pulled out of my funk, I recognized it for what it was.  I was using it as a reminder of her death.  But I should have been using it as a reminder of her _life_.  That’s when I decided to come here and get it colored in.”

 

Lexa smiles, eyes crinkling just a little at the corners.

 

“The tattoo was the best decision I could have made.  I just forgot that for a little while.”

 

Clarke breathes out, quietly turning to change colors so Lexa can’t see how her story has affected her.  

 

When she turns back, Lexa has sunk comfortably back in the chair, face serene.

 

“Thank you Clarke.”

 

Clarke huffs a laugh.

 

“I haven’t started yet.”

 

Lexa tilts her head to the side, looking a little like a lost puppy.

 

“I am grateful for you anyway.  Somehow you have a way of making me talk about things I need to talk about, but am otherwise unable to.  I feel like you must have been a great therapist in another life.”

 

Clarke shoots her a smile.  

 

“Lots of practice.  I spent the first year of college utterly wrecked by my dad’s death and making bad choices before I pulled my head outta my ass so I was usually the one people went to later when they had problems they didn’t want to talk to the RAs about.”

 

Lexa hums her acknowledgment, eyes focused on Clarke as she begins to work.

 

This time it’s more relaxed than before.  They trade soft comments as Lexa tells her about her years in college and the way she’d thrown herself into work and practically drowned in it in the wake of Costia’s death and Clarke tells her about how she ended up a tattoo artist instead of in medical school like she’d originally planned after her dad died.

 

Clarke finds that Lexa is an exceptional listener, always attentive, those captivating green eyes utterly entrancing when they’re captivated by her talking.  And Clarke is equally entranced by that smooth careful lilt of Lexa’s voice.

 

All too soon Clarke is finished, and she mourns their time together a little.

 

Lexa too, looks a little put off, lip pushing out ever so slightly into a pout.

 

But when Lexa glances down, she smiles a smile so bright at her that it takes Clarke’s breath away.

 

Clarke doesn’t even have time to process the way that smile makes her feel before Lexa has hopped off the chair and wrapped herself around her.

 

“Thank you Clarke,” is muffled into her shoulder.

 

Clarke awkwardly brings her hands up to wrap around Lexa as well.

 

“For what?”  Clarke had only been doing her job after all.

 

Lexa lifts her head a softer smile, no less radiant, directed at her.  

 

“For helping me heal.”

 

And when Lexa smiles that soft smile at her, all slow movements and soft edges, Clarke feels like maybe this is the start of something beautiful.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> duskendreams.tumblr.com for sappy mini-epilogue


End file.
